THE TRIAL
He remembered Cazi Moto squatting, undoubtedly horrified to the core.
"Cazi Moto, are you there?"
"Yes, _bwana_."
"Where has the _memsahib_ gone?"
"Into her tent, _bwana_."
"Listen well to me. She has destroyed the medicine. Now we must go back
to where _Bwana_ Marefu can come to fix my eyes. We shall go with all
the men as far as the people of the _sultani_. There we will leave many
porters and many loads. With a few men we will go to Bwana Marefu. When
he has fixed my eyes, then we will come back. I will fix a _barua_ for
_Bwana_. This must be sent on ahead of us so he can come to meet us.
Pick two good men for messengers. Is all that understood?"
"Yes, _bwana_."
"Tell me, then, what is to be done?"
Cazi Moto repeated the gist of what had been said. Kingozi nodded.
"That is it."
"_Bwana?_" Cazi Moto hesitated.
"Yes. Speak."
"That woman. Shall she be _kibokoed_ or killed?"
Kingozi caught back a chuckle.
"No," he said gravely. "That will wait for later. But see that she is
watched; do not permit her to talk to her men; take all her guns and
pistols, and bring them to me."
"And this Chaké?"
"Of course." Kingozi had really forgotten the man in the concentrations
of the past few hours. "Let him be brought before me an hour before
sundown."
He found himself all at once overcome with sleep. Hardly was he able to
stagger to his cot before he fell into a deep, refreshing slumber.
At the appointed hour Cazi Moto scratched on his tent door. Kingozi
arose and walked confidently into the opening. Cazi Moto deftly
indicated the location of the chair. Kingozi sat down.
Although he could not see, he visualized the scene well enough.
Immediately in front of him, and ten feet away, stood the manacled
Nubian, with an armed man at either elbow. Behind them, in turn, were
grouped silently all the combined safaris. At his own elbows stood Cazi
Moto and Simba--possibly Mali-ya-bwana.
He allowed an impressive wait to ensue. Then abruptly he began his
interrogation. He had been thinking over the circumstances, off and on,
since last night, and had determined on his line. Ordinarily he would
have called for witnesses of various sorts, but this would have been
not at all for the purpose of piling up evidence against the accused.
That is the civilized fashion; and is superfluous among savages.
Kingozi's witnesses would have been called solely for the purpose of
furnishing information to himself. He needed only one piece of
information here, and that only one witness could furnish him--the man
before him.
"Why did you kill Mavrouki?" he demanded.
"I did not kill Mavrouki, _bwana_."
"That is a lie," rejoined Kingozi calmly.
Chaké became voluble.
"All night I sat by my fire cooking _potio_ and meat," he protested.
"This the _askaris_ will tell you. And my spear lay in the tent with
the _askaris_," he went on at great length, repeating these two points,
babbling, protesting, pleading. Kingozi listened to him in dead silence
until he had quite run down.
"Listen," said he impressively, "all these words are lies. This is what
happened: from one of the _shenzis_ you traded a spear, or a spear was
given you. Your own spear you left in the tent. All day you sat in the
grass and sharpened the _shenzi_ spear." This was a wild guess, based
on probabilities, but by the uneasy stir in the throng Kingozi knew he
had scored. "Then at night you waited, and you speared Mavrouki with
the _shenzi_ spear, and you left it in his back, for you said to
yourself, 'men will think a _shenzi_ has done this thing.' Then you
went quietly to your fire, and cooked _potio_, and your own spear was
all the time where the _askaris_ were lying."
Kingozi paused. He knew without Cazi Moto's whispered assurance that
every shot had told. It was a simple bit of deduction, but to these
simpler minds it seemed miraculous.
"Why did you wish to kill me?" he demanded.
The Nubian, taken completely by surprise, began to chatter with fright.
"I did not wish to kill you, _bwana_. I wished to kill Mavrouki."
"That is a lie," said Kingozi equably. "Why should you wait for
Mavrouki near my tent? Was Mavrouki my gun bearer, or even my cook,
that he should come to my tent? Mavrouki was a porter, and if you
wished to kill Mavrouki you would wait by the porters' camp."
He said these words slowly, without emphasis, in almost a detached
manner. By the murmur he knew that this amazing reasoning had, as
usual, struck the men with deep astonishment. The African native is a
simple creature. He waited a full minute.
"Mavrouki wore a khaki coat. He and I were the only people of all the
safari who had khaki coats. That is why in the darkness you mistook
Mavrouki for me. That is why you killed Mavrouki."
He said this in a firm voice, as though making an indisputable
statement. The buzz of low-voiced comment increased. This time he did
not pause.
"Why did you wish to kill me?" he repeated.
But again he sensed the fact that Chaké had taken refuge in the dull
stupidity that is an acknowledgment of defeat. He knew that he would
get no more replies. After waiting a few moments he went on. His voice
had become weighty with authority and measured with doom.
"You will not tell. Let it be so. And now listen; and you other safari
men listen also. Because you have wished to kill me, you shall have two
hundred lashes with the _kiboko_; and then you shall be hanged."
A moment of horror was followed by a low murmur of comment. Not a man
there but realized that the unfortunate Nubian would never live to be
hanged. A punishment of twenty-five is as much as the most stoical can
stand in silence; fifty as much as can be absorbed without permanent
injury; seventy-five an extreme resorted to on a very few desperately
rare occasions. Beyond that no experience taught the result. Kingozi's
sentence was equivalent to death by torture.
He leaned forward in his chair, listening intently. He heard his
victim's gasp, the mutter of the crowd. They passed him by. Then he
sank back, a half smile on his lips. He had caught the rustle of silks,
the indignant breathing of a woman. He knew that Bibi-ya-chui stood
before him.
"But this is atrocious!" she cried. "This cannot go on!"
"It shall go on," he replied steadily. "Why not?"
"He is my man. I forbid it!"
"He is my man to punish when he attempts my life."
"I shall prevent this--this--oh, this outrage!"
"How?" he asked calmly.
She turned to the men and began to talk to them in Swahili, repeating
emphatically what she had just said to Kingozi in English, uttering her
commands. They were received in a dead silence.
"You have heard the _memsahib_ speak, you men of the _memsahib's_
safari," remarked Kingozi; then: "You, Jack, whom I made chief of
_askaris_, you speak."
"What does the _bwana_ say of this?" came Jack's deep voice after a
moment.
"You have heard."
"What the _bwana_ says is law."
"Does any man of you think differently? Speak!"
No voice answered. Kingozi turned to where, he knew, the Leopard Woman
stood.
"You see?"
He heard only a choked sob of rage and impotence. After waiting a
minute he resumed:
"Do my command. Let three men, in turn, give the _kiboko_. You, Simba,
see that they strike hard."
A faint clink of manacles indicated that the guards had laid hands on
their victim.
"Wait!" cried the Leopard Woman in a strangled voice.
Kingozi raised his hand.
"You--you brute!" she cried. "You shall not do this! Chaké is not to
blame! It is I--I, who speak. I did this. I ordered him to kill you. I
alone should be punished!"
He drew a deep breath.
"I thought so," he said softly; then in Swahili: "These are my orders.
Let this man be well guarded. Let him be treated well, and given
_potio_ and meat. He shall be punished later. And now," he turned to
Bibi-ya-chui in English again, "let us drop the excitement and the
hysterics. Let us sit down calmly and discuss the matter. Perhaps you
are now ready to tell me why you have lied to me; why you have
concealed your possession of a secret map and other information; why
you have deliberately delayed my march; and, above all, why you have
refused to aid my blindness and have attempted to kill me."